


The Memory of Rain

by capalxii



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capalxii/pseuds/capalxii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Her instincts told her to hesitate, to ask questions, to be wary of this sudden change. Fuck instincts, she thought, and she took a step towards him and into the ship." The Doctor comes back for Journey. Post-Into the Dalek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Memory of Rain

It was only moments after she heard the sound of the Doctor’s ship leaving, a sound like air being forced through a corridor, that she heard it coming back.

The same severe face that had told her she was too much a soldier was looking at her again, the man having stepped out before she even realized what was happening. “Come on,” he said. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her instincts told her to hesitate, to ask questions, to be wary of this sudden change. Fuck instincts, she thought, and she took a step towards him and into the ship.

*

Journey was five the last time she’d felt the rain. She was sixteen the last time she could close her eyes and pretend a shower was rain, back before the water rations were put into place and wet showers were replaced with three-a-week sonic ones. Kai would have been eight the last time he’d felt it.

Some nights, when she heard air hissing through the vents and the crackling of dust as it hit the cleaning circuits, she could close her eyes and remember. On those nights she’d think Kai had gotten three more years of rain than she had and had found herself jealous.

The Doctor threw levers, flicked switches and asked, “Anywhere in the universe, all of time and space. Where would you like to go?”

She’d been afraid he’d judge her response, that it had been a test, that if she’d failed he’d send her back to the Aristotle but as she took a wary step out into the rain-drenched street and peered at all the people hustling towards shops and flats, all she felt behind her was his eyes on her, open and calm and as silent as the town before her was loud.

*

It took a day—a day of rain, of trying on clothes that weren’t bulletproof, of food that didn’t come from a ration box and wasn’t eaten cold to conserve resources—it took Journey a day to realize they were alone on the ship. “Is Clara here?” she asked.

"No." The Doctor looked at her straight in the eyes; at first she thought he was almost daring her to ask another question, but there was something else there, a core of strength and fear in his look, and she realized he was forcing himself not to look away. "I can show you to your room."

She wasn’t tired, but the conversation felt like it was over, so she nodded and followed him.

*

Journey liked tea.

There had always been coffee on the Aristotle, but it was disgusting. Kai had called it liquid shit and that hadn’t been far from the truth. The only reason it even existed was to keep the troops amped up and awake enough, to keep them all on just enough of a necessary edge. Kai probably would have liked tea, she thought, and that was enough of a thought for her to push her cup away when it was still half-full.

The Doctor stared at her cup, squinting in the bright sunlight as they sat outside the little beachfront cafe. “You don’t like it?”

"It’s fine," she assured him. "I just—never mind. It’s fine. Just didn’t want all of it."

He looked like he wanted to say something sharp, then stopped. Instead, he said, “If you’d like something else, tell me.”

The sunlight was better than the rainy London night, or the dark tones of the TARDIS, for seeing the Doctor’s face. It looked the same as how it had when he’d rescued her, same lines, same tautness, but there was something else there now. A century had passed in his gaze. Quietly, she asked, “What’s Clara like best?”

His mouth tightened into a thin pressed line. Finally, he said, “She liked that tea.”

*

The ship was a comfort that shouldn’t have been. Every day they went somewhere bold, sharp, and open, someplace with people bustling from work to shop to home, and every night they returned to a ship that smelled of metal and ozone, like the darkness between stars, and that shifted and groaned just barely loud enough for Journey to hear. Journey didn’t know what she would do if she had to sleep in a bed anchored to the earth with the sound of rain falling on the roof above her.

There was a library, bigger and better than anything the Aristotle had, and on her fourth night she found herself there. He was there as well, seated in a wingback chair with a book in hand, but she felt even more alone when she saw him. When the Doctor looked up at her, she shrugged and smiled and said, “Couldn’t sleep.”

"I never sleep," he said. "Don’t need it."

Her smile turned strained. “Must be nice.”

The Doctor had already turned back to his book. “It is,” he said absently. “No nightmares.”

That much she could understand. She sat down across from him, taking him in; it wasn’t just the weight of memory in his eyes. His hair was longer, unruly curls that licked the curve of his ears and the collar of his shirt. His hands were still slim and long-fingered, but somehow seemed less delicate than they had been before. “How long?”

His eyes snapped up to hers and she thought he might be pretending to not understand. “Hmm?”

"You left, then you came back. How long were you gone?"

He smiled at her, and she was sure he was pretending. “Does it matter?”

"It might." Her robe felt too soft around her, too comfortable as she sat on a too-cushioned chair. "If you won’t answer that, at least tell me why you came back."

"Felt like it."

"That’s not a real answer."

"It’s as real as you’ll get," he said, and Journey finally saw a flash of the man she’d met days ago. "I didn’t make you come. I only offered to take you."

"Knowing that I’d say yes," she said.

He shut his book and dropped it on the side table. “Goodnight, Journey. I’ll see you in the morning.”

*

There were no real mornings on the TARDIS, only the slow creep of light into the room. The Aristotle had simply had bunk rooms where the lights had stayed off at all hours, so that whichever shift was off could sleep. When Journey woke up, it was to the unfamiliar feeling of warmth on her face, as though sunlight were filtering in from some window. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to that.

A luxury of slow breakfast, a long shower, and clothes that didn’t chafe or scratch against her skin made her feel more unsettled than she’d thought possible. Her own fatigues had been laundered at some point, and before she knew it she’d discarded her civvies and was pulling her boots back on. When she went to the console room, he was sitting on the stair with a cup of tea and he looked surprised to see her. Mainly, she quickly realized, he looked surprised to see her dressed the way she was.

"Where are you heading like that?" he asked.

Journey sat down next to him. “Dunno. Just felt like wearing it.” She looked down at her callused hands, the nails clipped and bitten down to the quick, skin roughened from the work on the ship that seemed never-ending. Her brother’s hands had been the same, just bigger, but Clara’s hands had been soft. Gentle as a school teacher’s should be, even though she’d proven to be so much more than just a teacher. “What happened to her?”

He opened his mouth as though to speak, his gaze roaming the space in front of him until he settled on some point in the middle distance and pursed his lips with a quiet sigh. “I came back,” he said, “because I had been unduly cruel to you. All you wanted was something better. Some peace.”

And it had been peaceful, the last few days, but it hadn’t been the kind of peace she could reconcile. At every turn, no matter where they’d gone, she’d felt like she was missing something from the corner of her eye or just out of hearing range. An emergency klaxon, Kai’s teasing, Grace’s grin. A sad smile and a flash of chestnut hair, once. “It was good,” she said.

"It can keep being good," he said. "An entire universe is out there waiting for you."

"So’s the Aristotle." She forced a smile and added, "Take me back. I don’t think I fit in anywhere else yet. God, that sounds so single-minded, no wonder you hate soldiers."

"I don’t." He shifted towards her and shook his head. "That was never about you. Just, maybe if you took some more time away-"

"It’s what I know, Doctor. It’s what I’m best at. And I’ve been doing this so long I think it’s just who I am now." Her smile turned into a rueful laugh. "Never mind. Think it’s time I went home, yeah?"

When she looked at him finally, her smile faded. This must have been the face Clara had been so quick to defend: eyes wide and hollow, so crestfallen that she found herself wishing she could change her mind.

But he stood, nodded, and set the course.

*

Her uncle was unsurprised to see her back. “Good R&R?”

"Yeah," she said.

It wasn’t without warmth when he asked, “Ready to get back to work?” She nodded and headed off to read her orders. Within hours, she was back into her old routine—fitness training, weapons maintenance, all the mundane tasks that needed to be done in between trying not to be killed. The Aristotle herself was limping back home with the threat temporarily gone, and Journey found more peace in the familiar than she’d found those four days traveling in the TARDIS. But even as she settled back into her life, her thoughts kept going back to those last moments with the Doctor.

He had asked, before she’d left for good, “Do you ever see yourself stopping? Do you ever see yourself being someone else?”

And she’d thought for a moment. The little things she’d enjoyed, the feel of silk and the taste of chocolate, the warmth of the sun and the scent of the sea, had all had a bitter aftertaste. The memory of welcoming brown eyes fading into darkness, a severed family tie that felt like a phantom limb. She’d shrugged and said, “Not anymore,” and had walked away before his face could fall.

But that night, in the perpetual darkness of the bunk room, she closed her eyes and imagined the rain.


End file.
